One Eleven
by Kestrel1
Summary: An urban legend as told by Logan...


"....And to this day they say that if you sit on the docks during a full moon, you can see the water rippling mysteriously..."  
"Zat vas a lame one!"  
"Like you could do any better, Kurt!"  
The X-Men had taken a weekend camping trip to the woods upstate, and after a day of training it was time for scary stories around the campfire. But nobody could seem to come up with a tale that was creepy enough for everyone else. Kurt tried his hand at telling a German sort of urban legend, but something was lost in the translation. "That's the worst one yet!" Evan exclaimed.  
After a few more rounds of not-so-scary stories, the gang was fed up. Until someone had an idea. "Hey Logan," Rogue piped up, "You tell one." Everyone thought Logan had been sleeping, with his hat pulled down over his face and leaning back against a tree. "I don't buy into that mumbo jumbo," he mumbled. "C'mon," Scott persisted, "You have to know a good one."  
Logan finally pulled his hat up and leaned into the glow of the fire. "Alright, alright," he said, "Besides, you kids are tellin' some of the worst I've ever had the bad luck of hearin'." Everyone toasted a quick marshmallow, and the story began. "Well, it musta been a year or two before the shrimp over here was born," he said, motioning toward Kitty...  
"Down the highway maybe twenty miles from here the woods get a lot thicker, y'know, and for some of the locals it was like a rite of passage for say, high school students like yourselves to go spend the night in the darkest part of those woods. Through the years it became like a ritual, and so it happened one night. On Friday the thirteenth.  
"Now, there were wolves and other things that go bump in the night in those woods after dark, but kids up in these parts grew up around it and it didn't strike them as scary. But one year, and it just so happened to be the biggest number of freshman they ever had doin' the dare, some reports started comin' in. Strange things bein' found. No evidence or nothin', but real disturbin' stuff was bein' found.  
"They found all animals, from wolves to squirrels to wolverines, disembowled and hung over tree limbs. Some cops figured it was a bear or somethin' like that, killed and ate the animals and then threw the leftovers up in the air. But y'see, bears don't do that kinda stuff. And when they started findin' the carcasses more often, they called in the specialists. Forensic guys. They figured that the no animal was doin' it, but the animals were bein' cut open real precisely, like with a scalpel or somethin'.  
"Now they figured it was some of those crazy kids, playin pranks to kinda hype up the big dare. The police knew all about it every year, but until now nothin' had happened. So they put a few men in the woods at night with these big flashlights so they kept an eye on everything. Now one o' these cops happened to know the guy that was stationed the closest to him. So every once in a while he'd swing the flashlight in his buddy's direction and turn it on and off a few times. And his buddy responded by wavin' his light up in the air.  
"And so that's how it went for the first few hours after dark, but then the animals started to come out - the owls and raccoons - and the guy starts to get a little scared. So he starts blinkin' his light at his friend more often, and his friend starts wavin' the light less and less. So the one guy figures that his pal's gettin' annoyed, so he stops.  
"But then he notices that his buddy's wavin' the light even when he's not blinkin' his light at him. So real quietly he goes over to the light. And there's his friend with his throat ripped out, eyes rolled back in his head and slumped against a tree. His flashlight had been tied to a tree limb with his own belt, and every once in a while the wind would wave it around. And in the tree above his head, there's somethin' carved into the bark: 111.  
"So now that an officer had died, they had themselves a real big investigation. And their forensic guys said the same thing; that the cut had been made nice and fine with some tool or weapon. But the problem was that there was no blood spatter on the tree, or on the ground, or anywhere. And most of all, no footprints other than the cop's own, pacin' around in a circle. So now the media picks up on it and the '111 killer' is born.  
"Now a few guys from school dropped out of the dare right away, but for others it just made the dare that much sweeter. And in the meantime the cops are bustin' down the front door of every address 111 on every street, and questionin' every kid at the high school, but they found nothin.  
"So now its Friday the 13th and more than half of the kids had chickened out, and some planned just not to show up and others' parents found out and grounded them. In the end there was only a handfull of brave kids that were gonna do it. So that night they picked a part of the forest a little further away from where the weird happenin's were and a little closer to the highway.  
"Now the kids are all actin' cocky, but as soon as they get into the woods they start shakin' like a leaf. And when they heard the first owl hoot that night, three more guys ran out of the forest scared half to death. The brave few that were left picked a spot out in a clearing and rolled out their sleeping bags. They didn't sleep too good that night, needless to say, but when they woke up the next morning they were all present and accounted for.  
"So the first one up wakes up the guy next to him, and he wakes up the guy next to him, and so on, and as they start rollin' up their bags they notice that one kid's not wakin' up. He's all zipped up nice and cozy in his bag. So they nudge him a little, and one guy starts laughin' and gives the kid a little kick. Now he rolls around so they can see his face, and his eyes are wide open and his mouth is wide open and he rolls around again. And it was just his head inside the sleeping bag.  
"The kids start screaming like babies, and then they notice that they're standin' right in the middle of the clearing. And on every tree all around them, there's the 111 carved into it. In blood red.  
"Now this whole thing turned the neighboring towns upside-down and inside-out, and before you knew it the woods were full of men with dogs and shotguns. Now every time a dog came near that clearing they started barking like crazy, even the most well-trained of 'em, but they wouldn't follow a scent. So in the mornings someone would find a dog's rib cage on the floor or somethin', but they started happenin' less often and soon the 111 killer was a memory. A nightmare.  
"All along there were some that said the police were doing the investigation all wrong, that it wasn't really 111, it might have been three letter I's or the Roman number three." Logan paused here. Everyone was watching him silently, almost in a trance. He put his hand out and popped the three adamantium claws out of his right hand, let them glow in the fire a bit, and drew a line in the dirt. Three lines right next to each other. "They never caught the guy, never found a lead in the case, and they sure as hell never knew what the 111 meant."  
Nobody but Logan slept a wink that night. 


End file.
